


Weights and Measures

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [30]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:44:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stomach wounds are no laughing matter.  Neither is an oncoming apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weights and Measures

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during the events of the episode Weight of the World.
> 
> Written by Sadbhyl, beta'd by Mydeira.

The acoustic tile of the ceiling sank and retreated and sank again as Giles lay on the hospital bed, vaguely aware of the noises around him. The pain killers Ben had given him back in the abandoned gas station had long worn off. Giles could remember the beginnings of the drive back to Sunnydale through the moonlit desert, but it was interspersed with memories of a similar drive with Joyce, and he knew she hadn’t been there, and they hadn’t made love in front of the children, so the entire memory was suspect. Had someone else been hurt? He struggled to remember, but his mind was heavy and slow, unresponsive to his demands for information.

And then there was a commotion at the door, and the curtain around his bed was pulled back and Joyce was there, Ethan standing right behind her. “Oh, Rupert!” she breathed in horror, taking in the monitors and the IVs in either arm.

He worked his mouth to try to comfort her, but they were interrupted by the nurse. “I’m sorry, but you can’t be here! Only family is allowed back here.”

Joyce gripped his hand, and the warmth and strength of it was a comfort. “I’m his girlfriend,” she said uncertainly.

“And I’m not leaving.” Ethan’s tone was flat.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t allow . . .”

“Joyce?”

The voice was familiar, but Giles’ waking mind didn’t make the connection until Joyce greeted him. “Dr. Kreigel!”

“It’s alright, Stacy,” Joyce’s doctor from her surgery intervened. “I’ll take responsibility for them.”

“Yes, doctor.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Giles said thickly, gripping Joyce’s hand.

“He’s right,” Dr. Kreigel confirmed. “The impalement went deep, but it missed any organs. He’s lost a lot of blood, though, so we’re replacing that and stabilizing his vitals before we stitch him up. Mr. Giles should be able to go home tonight.”

“Oh, thank god!” Joyce leaned over to wrap her arms around Giles’ neck, burying her face in his throat. Mindful of the IVs, he returned the hold weakly. The refuge of her embrace and the relief of their presence washed over him, and he let it take him to safe darkness.

When he woke up again, he felt stronger, his head clearer. The sound of quiet voices drew his attention.

“So what happened?” Ethan’s voice was asking.

Giles was surprised to hear Xander’s voice answer. That’s right, Xander had been the one to bring him to the hospital, he remembered now. “Well, the official version is that he was impaled by a piece of rebar in a freak driving accident. The truth is he got run through by a lance.”

Ethan chuckled. “Leave it to Rupert to find the most old fashioned way possible to get himself killed.”

“Ethan,” Joyce chided from closer to Giles, and he realized she was still holding his hand. “It’s not funny.”

“True,” Giles finally managed. “Funny would require an anvil.”

Ethan moved closer, a faint smile quirking his lips. “That would be a start.”

Joyce leaned closer. “How do you feel?”

He drew a deep breath, coughing slightly. “Not up to my usual standards. But I think I’ll make it.”

Xander rose from his chair opposite the bed. “I’m gonna go wait out in the hall for Spike. Let me know when you’re ready to go.” This last was directed with a nod to Giles.

“I can leave? Already?” he asked as Xander slipped out through the curtain.

“Whenever you feel up to it,” Joyce replied. “Your blood volume is back up and your heart rate has stabilized, so the doctor stitched you up while you were unconscious. He just wants to check you over one last time while you’re awake. Should I get him?”

He nodded, struggling to sit up on the bed. “I need to go. Buffy’s going to need me.”

Her face went dark, but she squeezed his hand and followed Xander out.

Which left him alone with Ethan.

“Bloody rotten time to get hurt.”

Ethan moved to sit on the foot of the bed. “Well, that’s what happens when you insist on tilting at windmills.”

“I’m not going to be any use to Buffy now.”

“Ripper, you were going up against a god. Just how much use did you think you were going to be?”

“She needs all the help she can get.” A thought occurred to him. “You could do it. Take my place.”

“Oh, no. I don’t fight the good fight, remember? Besides, if you’d listened to me in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Could you do it? Knowing her as you’ve come to, could you kill Dawn now?”

Ethan’s face hardened, but Giles saw vulnerability in his eyes. Finally, he succumbed. “No, I doubt I could.”

“She needs you, Ethan. We all do. If what the Byzantine general told us is true, our only hope of survival depends on getting Dawn back from Glory. Your own enlightened self-interest should be enough to get you involved, if nothing else.”

“Nice to know you think so highly of me, Ripper.”

“Isn’t that how you want to be seen?”

A flash of pain crossed Ethan’s eyes, surprising Giles. But it was gone again just as quickly. “Fine, I’ll help. But when things go completely pear-shaped, I’m taking Joyce and getting the hell out of here.”

“You can try.” He swung his legs gingerly over the side of the bed, unmindful of the hospital gown gapping open at his back. “I don’t have time to wait for that doctor.”

Ethan silently handed him his trousers.

He slipped them on, careful of the bandage over his middle. “If anyone can do this, Buffy can.” He tried to sound quietly confident, but had the feeling it came out more as a prayer.

“So the fact that she’s catatonic should be in no way alarming,” Ethan retorted grimly.

“She’ll be alright,” Giles insisted. “She has to be.”

“I hope so. Because I don’t really have the temperament to be a Sancho Panza . . .”


End file.
